The Chronicles of Munchkin Land

First and foremost, Happy Father’s Day.

We’ve been asked to write about the fathers involved in our open adoptions for this second round of the Open Adoption Roundtable. It’s a kind of complicated segment of our open adoption. When I first considered what to write about, I thought of Munchkin’s biological and adoptive fathers. And then I realized that our story is shaped by so many other fathers.

I loved my daughter’s birth father once upon a memory. For giving me the most beautiful girl known to mankind, I will always love him. We weren’t a match. Our personalities were similar though we liked very different things. He’s a numbers and math and money type of man while I’m a music and words and not-money type of woman. Despite those differences, we were both intensely passionate. We were both extremely stubborn. When we wanted something, nothing stood in our way. At one point in time, that want was for each other. Things changed as we changed. We grew apart. We moved on. Timing of life threw us back together and a baby was conceived, carried and born. He wasn’t around during the second and third half of that process. I was angry for a very long time but I forgave him even before he apologized. I had to. Every time I looked in her eyes, he was there. Every time she laughed, I heard him. I couldn’t find it in me to be angry. Even though she wasn’t with me, without him, she wouldn’t have been there at all.

I first clicked with J, Munchkin’s adoptive dad, more than D. Women, by nature, are more stand-offish at first. Men, however, have nothing to lose. He was positive, encouraging and easy to talk to. Over the years, D and I became close and it wasn’t necessary to filter conversation through him. However, I still loved his ability to lighten the mood when necessary. And, in open adoption, it is sometimes necessary. Things can get heavy from time to time. Laughter is good. I am glad that my daughter has that reminder in his life, to laugh and not take everything so seriously. It’s an important lesson.

I have a memory of my father from our time in the hospital with the Munchkin. He is sitting next to me, to the left of my hospital bed. He is holding Munchkin’s head in his hands, her body stretched along the length of his forearm. She is small; he is so big. His eyes scrunch like they do when he is trying not to break down into tears. I want to look away. I want him to have his moment, to be alone with it. But I can’t look away. I stare and let it be permanently branded into my heart, my soul, my being. My father with my daughter. My father with his first grandchild, unknown at that time she could be his only granddaughter. (My brother still possesses this possibility.) The memory is with me to this day. My father is a strong, wonderful man who loves with his whole being. I learned a lot about him that day, in that moment.

My husband loved the Munchkin before she was born. For those who don’t know our story, we started dating after the Munchkin was conceived. He wanted to be there, to love her. Life got in the way when my kidney threw a wrench in the works. I was instructed to make my decision as if he didn’t exist. I hurt him by doing that; I saw the tears and held him as he cried when I came home from the hospital without her. He doesn’t cry like the men in my family, but he did that night. I wonder, at times, if I’ll ever forgive myself. But then, oh then, I remember him on that first visit, lifting her into the air. I remember him holding me in our hotel room. I remember him encouraging me, that first Mother’s Day. He’s always been my biggest cheerleader. He’s always been my biggest fan. He’s always been the best father I have known, even before he had boys of his own to chase around the living room and toss into the air, laughter filling the room and my heart. I don’t know how I lucked out and found him. I don’t know why he puts up with me in the summer when I’m too hot and, as such, too cranky. But he does.

And, now, we have M added to the equation. He’s quiet. Even more than my husband. But I’ve seen him with Munchkin and JD. Moreover, I’ve seen him with Munchkin, JD, BigBrother and LittleBrother. He can handle it. I felt fine when he was watching them all. It’s been a weird mental adjustment, of course. I didn’t choose M to be in my daughter’s life. He wasn’t on that profile. There was no way to know he would be someone I would have close contact with as I was planning to place my daughter for adoption. But he’s adjusted well to the idea of open adoption, spending a very crazy weekend at my house. He’s someone I can tell that loves my daughter, loves her brother and loves their mother. I can’t imagine someone else I’d rather have in her life in this regard. While it isn’t necessary for them to move forward with their life together, I give my full blessing to D and M. I hope that they find the happiness that I know my husband and I have found in one another, in our life together.

I think she’s lucky, that Munchkin, for having so many fathers in her story. A biological father who gave her a strength she won’t fully understand until she begins fighting battles on her own. An adoptive dad who gives her humor and the reminder that laughter is good. A “bonus dad” in my husband, who loves her more than any of us can understand. A biological grandfather who, if things had gone differently, would have taught her to throw a ball just as he taught me. And a stepdad-to-be who was thrown into the crazy world of open adoption and didn’t bat an eyelash. Yes, she’s lucky. So very lucky.